


when you look at me like that, my darling, what did you expect?

by r4bb1th013



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Languages, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Psychopaths In Love, School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23830060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r4bb1th013/pseuds/r4bb1th013
Summary: I LOVE killing eve so much UGH UGH UGHalso if it's really obvious to you that I used google translate for the French/German/Russian in this, it's because I definitely didbut i rlly wanna explore this relationship if the show doesn't as i find it really interesting (y'know, like the rights and wrongs of it)i do NOT condone underage solicitation OBVIOUSLY- i'm just expanding on the storyline :)i'll post more chapters maybalso- in the villanelle novels the perfume's maker died by execution (correct me if i'm wrong?)
Relationships: Anna Leonova/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	when you look at me like that, my darling, what did you expect?

Smashed bottles line the dingy apartment, and upon closer inspection one is laden with thick blood, as though it had travelled across someone’s head with considerable force. Oksana sniggered to herself, a snorting, ugly laugh. Her eyes met her father’s glazed, yellow ones and the laugh subsided. 

“Krov…” She whispers lightly, her eyes switching between the bottle, referencing the masses of blood pooled upon it.

“Eto... ne moye” he says, weakly bringing his arm up to reveal a bloodied fist, one that was earned by winning this mystery fight. She wished she paid more attention to the mingled shouting and clanging every night, but she just didn’t really care. 

“Too bad…” Oksana whispers, knowing her father did not understand a word of English. The sooner she could stop using this god-forsaken language, the better. She watches in awe as his eyes roll back and close, as he became so comatose with chemicals he may as well have been dead. She walks up to the bottle, her finger running along the sharp edge of the glass as blood gathered on it. Mouth gaping, her eyes glistened with wonder at the thick substance on her fingers. She looks to the wall next to her, the disgustingly green and chipping wall that she just hated so much. She brings one dripping finger upwards, makes two thick lines of blood on it, forming a ‘V’ shape. The ultimately feminine and murderous letter, she thinks. As sharp as the blade that chopped the poor Cometesse tu Barry’s neck, she thinks. Got a good perfume out of it, at least. La Villanelle. So did Anna.

God, she wishes she could have seen that.

In a swifit, soundless movement, she heads to the bathroom to wipe the blood from the length of her finger, making sure to carefully exhume all of the evidence of it from under her nail. In the midst of this, Oksana catches her own eye in the mirror, met with a gaunt-looking, beady eyed sixteen-year-old. Her eyes looked sunken, as though she hadn’t slept in weeks (had she?) and her skin was a sickly shade of grey. 

“You’re a mess” she whispered to herself, the “R” rolling heavily. “Tu es un bordel!” she says, this time in French, louder. “Du bist ein chaos!” she shouts, a tear falling from her sad eyes as she lets out a psychopathic laugh. Oksana didn’t love many things, but the obsession with languages that came with whom she met at her new placement school was something unlike she had ever experienced. 

She found that with an interest came an obsession, and things she obsessed over would never leave her sight. Visions of Anna Leonova filled her brain, how she looked while she slept, how her eyes glistened as she did things she liked, and how she’d imagine Anna would look as she came. She was beautiful. She made all of the angry and the bad go away, and that was something that Oksana needed. She didn’t care that she was sixteen, that she was her student and that Anna had a husband (that, by the way, Oksana knew everything about). 

They spoke in French and English, mostly. Almost never in Russian. It gave Oksana a new voice, something entirely unlinked to the past and the heritage and the self she so deeply hated. Something she could recreate herself with, and impress the person she dearly wished to impress.

~

“Bonjour, mon amour” Oksana says with a smile, slipping her way into Anna’s deserted classroom out of hours. Anna’s eyes rose from the papers in front of her expectantly, as a smirk grew on her face.

“Hello” Anna says as Oksana sits atop her desk, swinging her legs innocently, her hands either side of her. Oksana purses her lips as she stares at the woman, smirking herself.

“How are you, baby?” Oksana asks, absent-mindedly grabbing a pen from the holder and fiddling with it. Anna cranes her head around to see the door as the younger girl said this, hyper-aware of anyone who could walk in on this encounter. “I missed you…” she adds, looking at Anna with doe eyes. Sometimes, Anna forgot this was the multiple offender of GBH from eight-years-old onwards, her innocence struck her in their stark contrast against these crimes.

“I am well, thank you, Oksana,” Anna says, looking up. “And… you see me every day. What is there to miss?” She chuckles.

“Anna…” she says disappointedly. “There is much to miss when it comes to you, my love. You know that”. As she stares intently, she is caught off guard by a scent that she knows all-too well. She sniffs a little harder, leaning in closer to Anna’s neck. Anna cranes it with closed eyes, breathing out a rough and ragged breath as the younger girl grows closer.

“You are wearing it,” Oksana says with a large smile.

“La Villanelle. C’est floral, j’adore ça” Anna replies a little too breathlessly. She briefly considered righting the wrong of Oksana giving her all these lovely gifts that were likely stolen, but the intoxicating feel of the younger girl’s breath in her neck was something that took that thought straight from her head and threw it far, far away. “Merci, Oksana” Anna says, looking up to her eyes. The younger girl brings her hand to Anna’s, stroking her thumb along it, inching her face closer.

“It’s no problem,” she says, breathy, her accent thick. She had to know what she was doing. Her eyes were calculated yet entirely dazed, and her tone challenging. “I’m…” she starts, cocking Anna’s head up slightly with an outstretched finger, “...glad you liked it, baby” she says, even breathier. Anna looks up, her face oozing with fear and lust. 

“Oksana…” she says, making every mental attempt to tell herself that, no, she doesn’t like this. Her eyes travel embarrassingly down to the floor. How much longer could she restrain herself?

“It’s okay, Anna. I know what I am doing,” she lies. She knew how to successfully coerce, to manipulate, but she had never been this consensually intimate with anyone before. She leans in closer, so close that now her hot breath could be felt against Anna’s mouth. “I wanted to ask you…” she starts, “would I be able to do extra studying with you?” she says, still close enough to cause visible havoc in Anna. Oksana laughs when Anna’s eyes look scared.

“I’m not sure it’s professional, Oksana” Anna says, coming back to herself a little.

“It’s not?” Oksana shoots back, bringing her face away from Anna’s as to say ‘is this not unprofessional?’ “Well… my father…” Oksana says, looking down at the floor away from Anna’s eyes. Her eyes welled with false tears, of course she did not have the capacity to care about her father’s alcoholism.

“Oh,” Anna replies, seeing the younger girl’s sad eyes. She took her hand in a swift movement, completely disregarding her prior thoughts of unprofessionalism. “Oh.. well- of course, chérie,” she says, stroking her thumb along Oksana’s knuckles, laden with slight remnants of scarring - evidence of her history of violence. “I can help you study out of hours,” she assures, causing Oksana to look up excitedly, her tears seeming a distant memory.

“Thank you, baby” Oksana says, knowing she’d won.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the song '505' by Arctic Monkeys :D


End file.
